Restroom

I finished washing my hands and turned to walk out of the restroom at work. The door opened, a woman walked in. She saw me, blinked, paused half a step as she was walking in. She continued walking a few more steps, so did I. When she had passed me and I was almost out the door, I turned for a second. She had stopped walking and was looking around at the stalls, confused. “Is this the wrong restroom?” she asked me. “Nope,” I replied, in a friendly tone.

I love my new haircut. I also love my beard.

(And I’m wondering if I should start using the men’s room.)